


Lover's Prayer

by DeepWatersWaiting



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Drama, Fingon Kills Maedhros on Thangorodrim, M/M, POV Second Person, Quenya Names, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29382195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeepWatersWaiting/pseuds/DeepWatersWaiting
Summary: He hurries over, relief warring with fury in his eyes as he watches you, a reservoir of pain flooding outward as he looks at you and realises that you're okay. You hadn't wanted to cause him any more grief- you hadn't wanted for him to worry- and your tattered and broken heart flips over painfully in your chest. But it's the looks of Fëanorions that are the worst when they race from the building your father had came from- dependable Makalaurë, witty Tyelkormo, brooding Carnistir, genius Curufinwë and the happy-go-lucky Ambarussa with little Telperinquar following in their wake.They look hopeful.And then they look heartbroken when you shake your head and start to sob.Fingon is no hero, not this time.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Lover's Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> **disclaimer.**  
>  All belongs to JRR. Tolkien.
> 
>  **additional notes.**  
>  Finno - Fingon  
> Nelyo - Maedhros  
> Makalaurë - Maglor  
> Tyelko/Tyelkormo - Celegorm  
> Carnistir - Caranthir  
> Curufinwë - Curufin  
> Ambarussa - Amrod and Amras  
> Telperinquar - Celebrimbor  
> Írissë - Aredhel  
> 

He's not your Nelyo.

That's what you tell yourself at least, that the thing hanging broken and irreparable, suspended from one arm by some cruel device you know without testing it will not break, isn't your Nelyo. How can it be when your Nelyo is full of life and light and happiness? Your Nelyo's eyes are bright and clear, as sharp as a blade and as keen as an eagle, always on the lookout for his brothers' antics yet you swear that they never leave you sometimes, always lingering heavy on your skin in a way that leaves you flying without wings for hours if not days after you had parted from him. Your Nelyo's eyes are your favourite thing in the whole world, a peculiar shade of grey that verges on silver. Like steel, your sister claims; you know differently. Nelyo's eyes are softer than steel- just as determined but softer. He looks at you with love and there is no love steel. This Nelyo's eyes are fearful and empty though, watching you with no room for love to soften them and no determination to harden them.

Not steel, no love.

Merely broken.

The irony is that after all your jokes about his height, all the times you stood up on tip toe to kiss him or wrap your arms around his shoulders, all the times you told him to crouch down because you couldn't quite reach him... the irony is that Nelyo can't crouch down anymore and that there are feet uncounted between the tips of your fingers and the bleeding soles of his feet. You don't know if you want to kiss this thing anyway- the thing that looks like Nelyo but can't be because your Nelyo is-

Whatever your Nelyo is now, after everything, you know (you hope, pray, beg) that it isn't this. It can't be this. All the memories of childhood kisses shared lazily beneath the boughs of a willow tree, a book placed on their knees as you lay entwined, Maedhros on the grass and you on his chest; all the memories of sneaking in through bedroom windows and muffling laughter in pillow cases as you whisper _"Valar, Nelyo! I thought your father had me this time!"_ or _"Tyelko saw me this time- but he isn't going to say a word. Not if he wants to keep his thing with Írissë a secret"_ ; all the memories of glancing across grand halls in the midst of some social function or the other and seeing him standing against a wall, more handsome than you had ever seen him before and watching you with that almost self-conscious little smile of his, the one that drives you weak at the knees. All of those memories cannot come to this.

" _Finno_ ," a voice whispers, frail and barely carried by the wind.

You hate Morgoth more than you've ever hated anyone.

 _That Nelyo's voice!_ something in your mind cries, snarling and snapping with a wild fury you can never remember feeling, like the yapping of Huan when Tyelko would take him hunting with Oromë and the careful illusion you had built yourself- not your Nelyo, not your Nelyo, not your Nelyo- crumbles.

There are scars covering every inch of his body in a patchwork of suffering with every type of scar imaginable and a few you could have never dreamed up in even the most horrific of your nightmares; you can count every rib and every bone in his body from such a great distance that struggle to see the rocks behind his head in any great detail- the bones however are prominent and alien, straining his skin as though they're considering whether or not to burst free; his copper hair, beautiful and long, soft when you had delighted in running your hands through it to braid it, is matted with build and shorn around his ear like a sheep in a harsh and ragged cut; but his eyes are the worst- you can't move past his eyes.

" _Finno_ ," the voice says again, insistent, croaky, harsh, wavering...

You hate Thangorodrim more than you hated the Grinding Ice.

"Nelyo!" you call up, voice steady, not betraying the raging turmoil bubbling beneath your smile- merely there to calm Nelyo, you tell yourself, and not because you want to calm yourself. You cannot, must not, think about yourself until you get to your father's camp or even the Fëanorion camp and get Nelyo to medical attention- you smile and ignore the shortness of breath, the tightness in your throat. "Nelyo, I... I'm coming up!"

Disbelief.

It isn't the emotion you wanted but it's emotion finally filling those empty eyes as they focus- finally- on you. Fancifully, you think you see love lurking beneath the disbelief as well. Disbelief. Love. _Resignation_. Grey eyes watch you and a part of you wishes that they would look away again, as awful as that makes you feel. Nelyo is the one hanging, in agony, and yet every response he gives you is one you wish he hadn't. He's alive- you take that at least gladly.

"Don't worry," you tell him, "I'm going to get us both out of here. I'm here to take you home, my Nelyo."

His smile at the endearment is little more than a grimace but you ignore that- have to ignore it- to concentrate on just how you're going to get to him. He's so far up after all and the cliffs are sharp and belligerent when you attempt to climb them but you have to, no matter how painful it is for hands and feet, no matter how many times you skid down the wall. There is no alternative where you do not make it up the wall.

He speaks again after you fall back again. landing on the floor with a gasp of surprise and staring at your hands as though you can't believe that they gave up on you so suddenly. You can believe it but you don't want to- just like everything else about this Valar forsaken situation. "Finno," he groans, his voice stronger than it had been on the previous two attempts at speaking, full of exasperation and fondness. He sounds more like your Nelyo now and you find yourself grinning up at him despite yourself.

"Nelyo," you tease back in mimicry. Then your smile fades- Nelyo isn't smiling. He just looks sad, as though he knows something that you don't. His head lolls back and he whimpers something muffled to the sky above. You don't understand what he said, you couldn't hear whatever it was, but Nelyo seems to realise because he glances down at you again, clears his throat weakly.

"You can't save me."

Four words and your life feels like it's hurtling to its fiery end. You know your eyes widen, almost comically you're sure, and you leap to your feet with a startled cry of protest that you can't make form words. Nelyo thinks...? You came all this way to save him. You have to save him because there is no world without Nelyo in it where you can be happy or live in without wishing for something different with every breath you take.

"Finno, please," he sobs, "it h- hurts so much but I'm not coming home with you- I _can't_."

How do you talk to someone when your heart's breaking in two? When your soul feels as though it's being mangled beyond all recognition? You can't reply, can't force the words past your tongue which suddenly feeling three sizes too big for your mouth, so you shake your head. Violently, decisively. _No_.

" _Kill me_."

You shake your head again. _No_. Nelyo screams in frustration, stopping only to cough up a torrent of blood, slams his head back against the rocks again and again until you muster up the words. _Not your Nelyo_ , you tell yourself but it lacks the conviction you had before anf you know, you can see, how wrong it is with just a glance. This is your Nelyo from the lopsided smile he tried to give you to the second that his eyes had lightened with love. This is your Nelyo.

"Stop it!" you yell, desperate for his head to stop striking against stone, desperate for him to look at you. He pauses long enough for you to finish the rest of your words in one long rush. "Nelyo! I'll- I'll do it, just stop hurting yourself. Please."

It's a promise.

He whispers mournfully, "thank you," as you fit an arrow to your bow string, pulling it taut and aiming up at his heart, preparing to kill him with a skill he had spent numerous hours tutoring you in. His back warm against yours as he corrected your stance, his hand wrapped around yours as he adjusted their grip, his smile appearing as he congratulated your shot. Tyelko had helped sometimes, determinedly ignoring the kisses snuck between arrows, but he had grown bored when it became clear that you weren't extending your lessons because of a lack in skill.

You think of praying.

The Valar don't care though.

Your hands go to release the arrow.

You pause.

It can't end like this.

Nelyo watches you replace your arrow in its quiver and sling your bow over one shoulder with barely concealed confusion, his eyes watching your hands as they fasten once more on to the rocks with a new determination. He doesn't say anything though, just watches, giving himself over to whatever new pain he thinks you're going to inflict on him in the fight to save him. You don't bother to correct his assumptions- you yourself don't know what you're going to do or whether it will cause him as much pain as it will hopefully bring you some sense of closure.

Your hands carry you up, your feet scrambling for purchase and your knees scrape against cold stone. It's painful but it'll be worth it. Nelyo grows closer with every time you swing yourself up, always watching, always waiting, and soon you can touch the soles of his feet with the tips of your fingers. You haven't fallen yet, you don't think you will. You feel an iron in your limbs that had been absent before- you fall and everything will collapse and your limbs respond to the need.

It takes another minute of your floundering to draw level with Nelyo and you press a hand to his cheek, bury your head in the crook of his neck and grasp at the wall, fingers tightening. His one free hand reaches around to curl around your forearm, weaker than it had ever done so before but electricity races through your veins at the touch and you glace up at him through your eyelashes and the blur that's descended on your vision.

"Finno," he says.

You kiss him to shut him up. It tastes like blood and torment, ashes and tears, but it's Nelyo and that's enough for you. He draws you closer with a gentle nudge, gasping against your lips as his eyes flutter close. You stroke your hand down his cheek once more, framing the curve of his cheek bone, brushing your thumb over his temple and laughing quietly as he shudders.

Then you plunge the dagger you had stored up your sleeve in his chest and twist it.

* * *

It's a week later that you stagger into the Fëanorion camp, exhausted and grieving, your hands feeling as though they are on fire and the memory of what you did playing over and over again on repeat.

Your father is there.

He hurries over, relief warring with fury in his eyes as he watches you, a reservoir of pain flooding outward as he looks at you and realises that you're okay. You hadn't wanted to cause him any more grief- you hadn't wanted for him to worry- and your tattered and broken heart flips over painfully in your chest. But it's the looks of Fëanorions that are the worst when they race from the building your father had came from- dependable Makalaurë, witty Tyelkormo, brooding Carnistir, genius Curufinwë and the happy-go-lucky Ambarussa with little Telperinquar following in their wake.

They look hopeful.

And then they look heartbroken when you shake your head and start to sob.


End file.
